Page 219 of The Bone Season

Warden inclined his head. I thought his gaze darted to my lips, but it was so quick, it might not have even happened. No, I had to be losing my wits.

He looked trapped by his clothes tonight, bound up almost to his chin in that rigid doublet. Where the last fastening gave way to the small parting of his collar, I knew I would be able to see just a little of his throat, if not for the darkness. I knew because I had glimpsed it before.

‘I can’t stand this makeup.’ I glanced away. ‘I hate that they’ve tried to … polish me, like the rest of this hell. I want them to remember my face.’

‘Then show them.’

I looked back at him, curious. He tore off part of a drape with ease – a casual display of strength – and offered it to me. As I reached for the red velvet, I faltered.

‘I don’t think I can. I’ve no mirror,’ I said. ‘Would you mind?’

‘As you wish.’

Warden closed most of the space between us. His left hand came to my jaw, tipping my face into the faint candlelight. Our auras tangled.

The golden cord was taut. I was more aware of it now than I had ever been, sensitive to its every vibration.

He brushed the cloth over my cheek, to help erase the blush. Without any water, there was only so much he could do to get the greasepaint off, but he could try, at least. I wanted them to see how tired and pinched I was.

As he tucked a curl behind my ear, lingering on the shell, I had the strangest desire to touch his face in return. It was the only part of him he had ever been supposed to show me.

Even if his reason for saying it had been absurd, Duckett had been right to call Warden striking. For the first time in six months, I saw it.

I closed my eyes at once. I could be dead in half an hour, drifting around Nashira. That fear was overwhelming me, forcing me to look for distractions. Of course I would find one in the nearest person. As my breath caught, I concentrated on the soft brush of the cloth on my chin, my lips.

Now my heart was hammering on my breastbone, as if it wanted to get out.

Warden stopped, assessing my face.

‘I fear that is all I can do.’

‘Thank you,’ I said.

‘Your hair must be tied.’ He offered me a small box. ‘Forgive me.’

‘Will you do that, too?’

I had asked before I could think better of it. He nodded, and I turned around.

I told myself it was because I was about to die, and my fingers were shaking too much to do it. It was because I was so cold in the red dress, which left my arms and neckline bare. Those were the only reasons I could want to move closer to him. To want him to touch me again.

Warden placed the box on the corner of a crate and opened it. Inside were hairpins and gold ribbon.

It was some time before he started. In that prelude, I tried to understand what I was feeling. My skin quickened with goosebumps. I was aware of the sound of my breath, the depth of it, the rising cadence.

And I wondered if this was how it should have felt. That night with Reuben.

The thought shook me. I had to snap out of it, now. Warden had no interest in me, and I should have no interest in him. He was a Reph.

Warden seemed to finally decide on his approach. His first touch drew my back straighter, tightening my stomach. He felt the change and stopped.

‘Paige?’

He had never said my name like that. A low thrum in the depths of his throat.

‘I’m fine,’ I said.

After a moment, he set to work. He gathered a thick bunch of curls at my nape, securing it there with satin. Then he began to wind and tuck.

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